


A Bit Lost

by ChristianHowe, helena_s_renn



Series: Eleven Strings – yksitoista kieltä [2]
Category: Def Leppard, Sonata Arctica
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-27
Updated: 2017-08-27
Packaged: 2018-12-20 13:24:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11921823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChristianHowe/pseuds/ChristianHowe, https://archiveofourown.org/users/helena_s_renn/pseuds/helena_s_renn
Summary: Milan 2006. A chance meeting at the Gods of Metal festival.





	A Bit Lost

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Not ours, not true; as far as the authors are aware, none of this ever happened.
> 
> Note: updated 30 June 2018 with some minor fixes.

* * *

The knock on the door set off a magnitude 10 quake on the Richter scale in Jani's head. Helvetti, just how much had he had to drink last night?

"What?" he managed to croak when another knock came, this one even louder than the first.

"Bus leaves in twenty."

Osmo's voice sounded way too cheerful for this time of... What the hell, _eight fucking thirty?_ In the _morning?!_

"Yeah, yeah," he replied lest Osmo knock again, which Jani's head wouldn't survive. Groaning, he rolled over on his stomach, hoping that there was a trashcan nearby in case the nausea got any worse. For now, he seemed to be the winner against his roiling gut. Who knew how long that would last, though? In any event, there was no helping the fact that he had to be up and functioning – to some degree at least – in twenty minutes.

Sitting up slowly, he took inventory of his body. All the tell-tale signs of the mother of all hangovers were there, but other than that he seemed okay. Next on the list were his surroundings. He didn't recognise the room and had no idea how he'd got there. He knew he'd been supposed to share with Tommy and there was a weak and fuzzy memory of the blond shaking him vigorously, telling him he'd bunk with... with... right, Jörg Michael. Stratovarius' drummer had been Tommy's hero already long before they'd been invited to tour with Strato back in '00, and the two of them had been friends ever since.

Jani didn't mind at all having the room to himself. Despite the fact that every past and present member of Sonata – with the exception of Mikko, of course – had seen each other in states that nobody should ever be seen in, Jani still didn't like to be witnessed following what counted as a rough night. Or, as he had to admit, by his standards nowadays, it could probably be called an average night.

Sitting up made him feel as if the cap of his skull was about to be blasted off. A moment later he was proud of himself for making it to the bathroom before spectacularly losing the battle against his stomach. Once the undignified procedure was over, he brushed his teeth, dry-swallowed a handful of painkillers, and stepped into the shower. There was no time to dry his hair, but he succeeded in getting it combed. He shrugged into jeans and a tee-shirt, grabbed the backpack with his stage clothes and other essentials, then repaired to the hall of their hotel.

The rest of the band including Osmo had already assembled. They were looking far too bright-eyed and bushy-tailed for Jani's liking – even Make seemed to be reasonably awake.

"Coffee?" he asked hopefully, addressing no one in particular.

Tony shook his head. "At the venue." The singer sounded cheerful. Jani hated him for it.

A couple of cigarettes – at least there was that – later, nobody challenged him when he claimed the back row in the bus for himself, but the drive wasn't long enough to fall asleep again. Also, although it was still two hours until their set was up, his stage fright was already beginning to set in. His hands were cold and clammy despite the heat – really? Heat? How could it be so fucking hot at not even fucking nine in the fucking morning? Fucking Italy! – and he sensed that he was going to need a few beers even to get through sound-check.

Provided that there was any such thing, of course: When Jani stumbled off of the bus after the others, a guy with a thick Italian accent introduced himself as the festival manager and explained that the front-of-house would sort out the sound during their first song. Even in his pitiful state Jani recognised that this was probably a bad idea. So did Tony, who voiced his objection, but the manager just smiled at them and told them that everything would be great.

They followed another guy to the backstage area where they'd dumped their gear the day before. Since this was a single gig, unlike touring, they were travelling light with Osmo being the only tech. He was there mainly for Tommy's benefit to assist with setting up the drums, but he could also take care of their guitars, basses, and keyboards in an emergency. Osmo and Tommy conferred quietly, then Osmo announced that he was going to speak to the FOH. Hope died last.

Jani mentally patted himself on the back for making sure already the day before that his guitars had survived the flight intact. All he had left to do now was plug in once the festival roadies had installed his amp on stage. He didn't use a lot of effects, and the batteries in his pedals as well as in the wireless of both his RG and Destroyer were fresh. From his point of view, once he'd tuned again he'd be all set. Courtesy demanded that he offer his help to anyone needing it, but Make was ready, too; Tommy shook his head with a smile and said he'd wait for Osmo; and Henkka waved him off, suggesting that if Jani seriously wanted to help him he should go find some booze.

The latter was a mission Jani was very happy to embark on, and it didn't take him long to locate the first of many potential alcohol sources in the backstage area. He helped himself to a rum and coke, then picked up a six-pack of beer and repaired back to his band mates. Tony greeted his return with a mildly disapproving look, but Henkka and Make cheered when they clinked bottles with him.

Three beers and as many cigarettes later, Jani felt relaxed enough to begin warming up, playing his RG dry. He ran through his usual scales followed by a few riffs and chord progressions before settling on some of his solo parts. Half-way through, his hands started to shake again when his brain reminded him that he was getting ready for a gig rather than playing for fun, but another couple of rum and cokes took care of that and he lost himself again in the music...

"Five minutes."

Jani's head jerked up. How could the time have passed so quickly? He wasn't ready! He'd just discovered that his timing was slightly off in...

"Come on, time to get changed." Tony was looking at him and held out his hand. "Let me take that."

He reached for the guitar, which Jani gave up reluctantly so he could put his stage clothes on. As soon as he was dressed in them, he felt the dread return with a vengeance. He couldn't do this! He wasn't ready! He needed at least another run through...

"You're gonna be fine," Tony told him. "You know you can do it. You'll be alright as soon as you're on stage, and you know that." He smiled. "Come on now. Let's give these kids a show they'll never forget. We're gonna kick ass today."

Jani didn't agree, but he managed to return Tony's bright smile with a shaky one. After all these years, he still suffered from stage fright like a newbie. It was nice of Tony to not roll his eyes and tell him to stop the drama already, like he'd done on other occasions. No, Jani appreciated the support, but for all it was worth he also knew that Tony was wrong: Jani wouldn't be okay as soon as he hit the stage. He'd screw up and embarrass the whole band...

Tony offered him the guitar again, then pulled him to the stage ramp. Osmo gave the FOH a sign and their intro tape started playing. Jani began to shake. He wanted to be anywhere but here. Turning around, he found the exit blocked by his band mates leaving the stage the only way to go.

After giving Jani an encouraging smile and a brief squeeze of his arm, Tommy walked up on stage first. The audience screamed as he sat behind his kit and adjusted the throne. The intro tape neared its end and Jani tried a last time to spot a breach in the row of his mates behind him, but they knew him too well. He wasn't sure if he really would have bolted had they let him, but he'd never find out now...

Tommy raised his sticks and counted, 1 — 2 — 3 — 4 —

* * *

"Gods of Metal"... How they got invited was a mystery – they weren't fooling anyone. Not with Viv's Dio cred and not with whatever Phil managed these days with all his titanium this and DiMarzio that. There was a reason Sav refused – and always would – in-ear amps. On top of it, this was supposed to be the start of the Yeah tour. Cover songs. He wouldn't still be doing this if he hated it, yet the irony was a bit over the top. They'd been rehearsing for weeks now, focusing on the old material for this show. It was a lot more hard rock than anything they'd made in 20 years now, sure, but metal? No. He wasn't delusional.

It was going to be a long fucking day – they didn't go on till 8 PM, but their management insisted on a full day of showing themselves, signing autographs, and the like. Part of the job. Nothing had ever been the same since Hysteria, hence the job involved a lot less drinking and fucking groupies and more... what Sav privately thought of as kissing arse. What men (read, aging rock stars) do to stay relevant, and he had no illusions there either. While he wasn't painfully shy like Steve had been, the last decade, well, he had his own issues.

Nine AM sharp they offloaded their tour bus to a herd of screaming females and, noticeably, plenty of scowling leather-and-spike types. Out of habit, Sav stuck close to Joe with Rick on his tail, leaving the second-gen Terror Twins – not even a faint echo of the first – to their own devices. People pressed in around them, wanting to touch, always that; it never used to bother him. Smiling and waving, they were guided through the crowd to what was considered back-stage, a huge (but not huge enough) area stuffed full of equipment: amps, racks, instrument cases, lighting and pyrotechnic gear, the usual band paraphernalia. Back there the traffic was thinner, enough to where Sav could once again hear himself think. Only thirty minutes had passed and it was enough already, but it was only the beginning. He appreciated they were close to the far wall from where they'd come in, less people would get through, and they could choose when to be seen. Donning his All-Areas lanyard with its plastic badge, he looked around to see... whatever he could see.

Not far off, another band was gathered in a huddle while roadies started to ready what he assumed was their gear. There wasn't much, meaning either most was already out in the front of the house or they weren't using much. It looked like five band members, and they were young, really young compared to what he felt like these days. Smooth, unlined faces, other than one of them whose 'beard' might be more aptly termed infestation, no grey in their hair... jabbering away in some language Sav had a feeling he might have heard somewhere but it was utterly incomprehensible. One of them had long red – not ginger but actual screaming orange-red like... what? Fresh blood on fire? Was it a bird or a bloke, that was the question. He or she had one hell of a bum. ...OK, bloke. The voice and the faint stubble when – he – turned around gave that away. Those arms didn't belong on a girl, either.

Realizing he'd been gawking two seconds too long, Sav turned to his own bandmates, hoping no one noticed the faint blush he could feel tinging his cheeks. It was stupid. He's seen all manner of naked humans over the years and that boy was fully clothed. He could count his... encounters... with blokes on one hand and those were long ago, never to be repeated. Everyone in Def Leppard were arrow-straight, working class lads made good (except when they weren't). Why were his thoughts even going there now, at a metal festival? That was incredibly poor timing – he could get knifed or his balls stomped if someone thought he looked at them wrong.

One thing he was noticing already, which he could blame for the spots of colour should anyone open their gob: it was oppressively hot, and humid. Under stage lights, he sweated like a pig, enough so that he'd shorted out the electronics in his guitars more than once. It was bound to be an entire day of this. They weren't going to get any sort of break – there was a designated space for them to hold what amounted to an all-day meet-and-greet, with short allowances for meals and, he supposed, so they could take a piss, till their sound-check starting 20 minutes prior to the show. That sucked, because he would have preferred to watch at least some of the other bands' performances. Sav hoped there would be sufficient liquids for hydration. And he decided then and there to ditch the leather pants in favour of all-white for their set tonight. Let Joe melt his ballsack off for vanity's sake, no thanks. Now they were being given the run-down on where to go first, and so he turned his attention to the business of... the business.

* * *

"Breathe," Tommy rubbed Jani's shoulders. "You can relax now. It's over."

"Should have started breathing earlier, too," Tony grumped. "You were almost half a note too high on the last chorus."

"Hard to sing in key when you can't hear a thing," Jani grumped back. He was tired and fed up with pretty much everything. Not too happy in the first place with the songs the others had selected for their set, the messed-up sound hadn't done anything to improve his mood.

"I could hear you just fine," Tony stated.

"Yeah, go figure. Guess what, I kind of got that when you said I was off." Jani's in-ear monitors had mostly blared feedback that had made it virtually impossible to hear even his own amp, let alone any of the other instruments or vocals. "All I had to go on were Make's hands. And Tommy, of course."

"I heard Jani, but not you, Tony," Henkka supplied.

"I should really go rip that FOH a new one," Tony fumed. "And where's Osmo? Was it as bad in the audience?"

"Osmo is disassembling Tommy's kit," Make said. "We need to clear the stage. As for the FOH, I couldn't agree more but let it be. Gig's over. Killing him now won't change a thing."

"Yet it might," Jani commented glumly. "Could help some of us feel a little better. Maybe. Or make that, could help some of us feel a little _less bad._ Man that was..." He shook his head. "Besides, Strato would appreciate having decent sound."

Tony grinned suddenly. "I bet so would Gamma Ray. They're on right before Strato – should I feel guilty for thinking this?"

"Not after the way they treated us back then," Tommy said dryly. "OK, I'd better go help Osmo. See ya."

His leaving was the general signal to disperse. Make was still carrying his bass and made for the stage exit. When Jani went to fetch his instruments, Tony followed him. "Let me give you a hand."

Jani looked at him in surprise. His two guitars weren't that heavy. It quickly became clear that the offer, although Jani didn't doubt its sincerity, was not the only reason why Tony joined him.

"I take it that these are all yours," Tony indicated the array of beer bottles on the stage floor before Jani's stack.

There was nothing to say other than confirming Tony's assumption, so Jani didn't bother to answer.

"You need to look after yourself better." Tony's voice betrayed his worry. "I'd offer to listen if you need someone to talk to, but, yeah, well."

"Thanks, I appreciate that," Jani said. He meant it and knew that Tony believed him, yet they also both knew that there wouldn't be a talk. Jani didn't talk, not with Tony, whom he still considered one of his best friends despite their heated disagreements during the latest tours, not with his girlfriend, nor his other, well, woman... nor... anyone.

Hell, he didn't talk, period. He was aware that it probably wouldn't hurt to talk to someone, that it would likely even help him deal with at least some of his issues, but he'd never been able to open up and he knew he wasn't going to start doing it now. It wasn't a question of wanting to but one of being able to. Being an introvert even by Finnish standards had cost him relationships in the past, relationships that he'd given a lot to keep, but he couldn't bring himself to confide his problems, not to anyone, regardless how dear they were to him.

He and Tony walked to the backstage in silence, each carrying a guitar. Jani put the RG in her case, then took the Destroyer from Tony's hands.

"Take care. I mean it." Tony looked him in the eyes and held Jani's gaze for a few seconds before touching his arm and leaving him alone.

It was sound advice, Jani thought as he made sure his instruments were safely stashed away. So why was the only thought that he came up with when he was finished with the guitars that he wanted a smoke and another drink? Why wasn't he worried that, after emptying a number of bottles that had Tony obviously worried, he wasn't even feeling drunk?

It didn't really matter right now, he decided. _Maybe_ he could think about leading a healthier life once they were back in Finland, but here and now wasn't the right place for it.

Decision made, he gave his guitar cases a final look, lit up, and went to find himself something to celebrate surviving this set.

* * *

"What the fuck is that?" Joe blurted as the group of them – relegated by management to make a trip to the toilets like a pack of teenaged birds – passed close to the outer reaches of the open auditorium. Good question, Sav thought, keeping his mouth shut. He didn't need to listen to a rant to add to his burgeoning headache. The band on stage had horrible sound quality, and he doubted it was by design. Suddenly their aging hard-rock arses didn't seem so bad, between the too-clear, accented voice of the lead singer and a heavy keyboard. He could barely hear a guitar, and the backing singer was almost a half-step off. Huh. If this was metal these days...

Then it was like someone finally turned on an amp, and some truly wild riffs jangled the entire space, all over the fretboard, unrelenting, and the speed... like cocaine high on cocaine. Not just fast, though; it actually made musical sense. The hairs on his arms rose. Without his consent, his memories from 29 years before, 23 years ago, 18 years ago (was it really that fucking long?) intruded and he pushed them down. Without a programme in hand, Sav hadn't the slightest idea who the performers were. He recalled that band from backstage, maybe it was them, but that had been nearly two hours ago. He couldn't see the stage for shite, too far back and too many people in the way. Ear-splitting harmonics nearly hemisected his head for a second, followed by more staggeringly impossible sounding arpeggios. Had that really just made his nipples hard? Just as well they couldn't stay and watch this one.

Someone jostled him from behind. Sav grimaced and swiveled his head around to see Viv shrugging and pointing which way they others had gone. With a nod, Sav slid his shades down over his eyes. The one that caused trouble twitched and he hoped to god nothing was going to crop up now. "Got any paracetamol?" he yelled over the din. Viv frowned, shook his head and pointed again, more decisively.

As they rounded a corner, a group of women probably in braces and training bras during the Hysteria tour shrieked, "Rick! Rick! Sav!" Two of them flashed their tits. It wasn't exactly a mob, but for some reason, more than he wanted to deal with. Obligingly – always that – he smiled and signed their bare breasts and more autographs and gave a couple of hugs till, thankfully, security rescued him and Viv by corralling the stragglers and sending them on their way. It was only then that he realized they were already in the loo. Christ, fans were bold these days! Getting grabbed by the dick – which hadn't happened today – wasn't as invasive as someone wanting to watch you piss.

"Oi! Couldn't work out one blow job between the pair of you?" Phil. Of course Phil. The man got more tail than the rest of them put together, lord knew how that worked. Sav had his theories, but those were probably his own ego talking. The headache pulsed through his skull again. Possibly due to the climate – not to mention several thousand drunk, poorly aiming fans using the facilities – the place wasn't exactly sweet-smelling. In fact, it reeked. It made him want to puke, truth be told, this from a bloke who had spent his formative years in pubs whose toilets hadn't been cleaned properly since the Beatles went to America if they worked at all. It would've been nice to splash some water on his face, but he'd probably pick up something nasty just from washing his hands.

Well, that was over. Back to the trenches. As soon as they were back to their assigned area, Sav downed a bottle of water and looked for more, as it hadn't been forthcoming up to this point. He wasn't going to pull off gracious and charming at this rate, which sucked because he was normally unflappable, and he didn't like feeling out of control.

Taking short breaks usually helped. He asked one of the local organisers who saw to the scheduling about it, was told not to wander on his own for his own safety; they wouldn't tell him where the bus was parked, either. Lovely. He was going to have to work at distraction, to keep the 'trapped' feeling at bay.

Six-and-a-half bloody hours till sound-check.

* * *

Another few beers later and a bottle of Absolut in hand, Jani made his escape from the 'ristorante', the tent where the complimentary food – and drinks, of course – for the performers was set up. He was still soaked in sweat from the gig. Since there were no showers – impossible but true! – he'd initially decided to stay in his stage clothes until he'd dried off. What with the heat it appeared more and more unlikely that that would ever happen, but by now he wanted out of them; even though it meant that he'd sweat through his clean garb in no time, it still beat the current ones.

In particular, he needed to get out of his 'I ♥ VAGINA' shirt, which some of the lingering girls found a little too inviting. Not even that he'd been in such a hurry in the morning that he'd forgotten to shave – he hated the stubble on his face – seemed to deter them. Normally, he wouldn't have minded, quite the opposite, but today he just wanted to be left alone.

Turning back once again to snag a bottle of water, too – Tony would have been proud of him – Jani fled. Keeping his eyes trained on the ground pretending that if he couldn't see anyone they couldn't see him either, he finally ducked into one of the storage rooms backstage that had a fat 'No Entry!' sign posted on its door – his backstage pass said it granted him unrestricted entry, so the sign didn't apply to him, right?

It was as hot in there as everywhere else, but it was semi-dark and almost quiet. Angra were playing, so of course 'quiet' was relative, but at least he couldn't hear any more voices, in particular not voices that insisted on addressing him and expecting a reply.

He checked the time. There was a meet-and-greet session scheduled in two hours. Autographs, photos, questions, questions, and then some more stupid questions. Contemplating for a second if he could get away with 'forgetting' it, Jani came to the unfortunate conclusion that he couldn't. Not only would it be unfair to leave his bandmates hanging, especially after they'd done everything to make things easier for him today when he clearly wasn't on top of his game, but also because he couldn't risk overplaying his hand. The remaining Sonata had covered for him too often already in the recent past and he really owed them.

Sighing, he set the alarm on his mobile phone to wake him in time. There was enough space for him to stretch out on the floor behind one of the larger crates. He wasn't even curious what kind of gear it contained; his professionalism had reached a low that was poor even for him. He lit up, noticing that he'd have to go find more cigarettes eventually, then opened the Absolut.

By the time he laid down, resting his sore-again head on the backpack with his fresh clothes that he still hadn't changed into, the bottle was almost empty and he hadn't touched the water. He knew he'd pay for that later but couldn't be bothered to get up again. Didn't care...

* * *

The mid-afternoon crowd was more active than the morning. More rowdy, milling around, drinking, laughing. That wasn't something that bothered Sav, overall. He was happy to see people losing themselves in their own personal rock fantasies, knowing he and his bandmates were some of the lucky few. They'd been able to eat a late lunch in relative peace, then it was back to it with photo ops.

He grabbed a beer with lunch, OK, two, and it wasn't sitting so well. Could've been the food, as well. But he'd manage. They'd passed a first aid station earlier and the paracetamol he'd obtained was working to keep the headache if not gone, then bearable. It felt like a hangover really, and he'd dealt with plenty of them in his life. Squinting at the sky, Sav wondered if there was such a thing as a sun hangover like there was with sleep or too much food.

For this part of their day, they were under the blazing sky. Not a cloud in sight. Who the fuck thought it would be a good idea for four pasty Englishmen and an Irishman to be set up under that? Potential for melanoma aside, it had gone from hot as blazes to Devil's armpit in the past few hours, and they were all predictably sweating through their clothes. His hair was getting matted down between the humidity in the air and that which his body was producing, he could feel it. Sav wished he'd had the foresight to bring a bandana or scarf.

After a while, he asked to sit down. They had to save some strength for the actual gig that night, after all. That was popular for a bit and he had plenty of female posteriors plopped in his lap for the next hour. None of that really turned him on anymore, although some of those fangirls were rather obvious about their attempts, squirming and throwing their arms around his neck, flashing him like the pair from earlier and so on. His mates soon followed suit, even Joe who usually made his height a point. All went well till a mangy-looking group of rough characters, fresh out of the last set of what had sounded to Sav like a violent death run through amps, infiltrated their space and began to hurl insults.

It wasn't anything he hadn't heard a thousand times. "Def Leppard sucks!" "Sell-outs!" "Talentless bitches!" emphasis on bitches. Sav jettisoned the hapless miniskirted woman, near his own age and even more out of place, off himself as nicely as he could manage and stood, along with the rest, looking about for security. Their manager would not be pleased if they got into some sort of scuffle, especially if it hit the press, which were everywhere. Inevitably, the jeering turned into, "Fags!" "Homos!" "Look at that one, is it the bass player or the dick-sucker?" Yeah, yeah... heard that one before, _dude._ None of them got riled over shouted insults or the two-finger salute anymore, but hurled beer bottles – or fists – were another thing and the blokes hating on them were escalating. Sav recognized the accent as American although he couldn't have pinpointed which region. Probably some snot-nosed, bored rich kids. A bottle of something went flying through the air. In his peripheral vision, he caught Joe ducking and then jabbing his middle fingers up. Something Sav hoped wasn't a blade flashed before the goons in Sicurezza t-shirts finally got with the programme.

Sav wouldn't say it was a panic attack that happened, although he was surprised to find his heart pounding and hands shaking, not from fear but unused adrenaline. As for the rest, he could blame the weather rather than the more dire conclusion; one of the many doctors he'd consulted a decade ago said a sudden change in climate could exacerbate his facial thing. Of course, it chose that minute to act up. He narrowed his eyes – no, eye – at the arseholes across the way; a low-grade horror slid over him as he knew, just could feel-it-not-feel-it, the corner of his mouth going slack. Of all times and places, not here!

Well, he wasn't going to just run away like some pussy but Sav knew his limits and he was going to need some time to mellow out and get this shite in hand, or chances were he wouldn't be able to sing later. Part of their sound was powerhouse three-part backing vocals; Sav felt that as keenly as his bass lines. He didn't want to let his band down. Rick glanced over at him, blinked, then did an alarmed double-take. He knew what that meant.

Damn, he needed a smoke – bad – first and foremost. Hadn't had one since early morning, hadn't really noticed till right now. Were they allowed to light up backstage? Sav found he didn't care. They were going to have to pry it from his fingers if there was a problem. "I need a break," he told the rest of the band firmly. They all took a look at him and nodded. There was certainly something to their brotherhood – no one questioned him. There were offers to accompany him but their time-slot with the fans wasn't near over and he insisted on finding his own way.

Concentrating on his own steps and breathing helped; Sav lowered his shades again to keep interactions with those who recognised him at a minimum, a half-smile or a nod. Seemed like forever till he made it to the backstage area behind big double doors, and then at last to the section reserved for their gear. There were no chairs nearby but the craving for a smoke was enough that, after fishing his pack from the pocket of his trousers and making a face at the damp, crumpled condition of it, he sat down on the stone floor. The relative coolness of it felt good. Sav found a cigarette that wasn't too badly battered, flicked his lighter and inhaled deeply. He decided that more than just his arse should benefit from the cooling effect of the floor and, letting the smoke stream from his nostrils, lay back with a sigh.

* * *

The intro to 'Black Diamond' slowly wove its way into Jani's consciousness. He smiled. Then he frowned: Stratovarius weren't supposed to be on until much later – mitä v*ttua?!

Jerking up, suddenly fully awake, he checked his watch. Perkele! How had he managed to sleep through his alarm – as well as through the signing session, of course! And why had nobody called him? The answer to the latter question was easily found when he rummaged through his pack and found the ringer of his phone switched off. There were about a dozen text messages from Tony that he deleted without bothering to read.

Great. Of course nobody would believe him that he hadn't stayed away on purpose. The situation in the band had been more truce than real friendship lately, and Jani didn't delude himself pretending that it wasn't mostly his fault. After missing his PR duty today, there was no doubt he was in the doghouse. Again. If he'd ever left it, that was. These days it felt to him as if he was chained up there for life, and not only band-wise.

He sighed as he sat up, then suppressed a groan when the throbbing in his head increased. Thank goodness one thing he always made sure to carry with him were painkillers. He gulped down a couple of them with the water he should have drunk earlier, then sank down on the floor again to wait until they kicked it. Maybe once that happened, he could still catch the end of Strato's gig. During their first tour with them back in '00, Sonata hadn't watched every single Strato show, but nowadays, Jani wouldn't miss one if he had the chance. Furthermore, today was the first time he'd get to see them with their new bass player. Or he wouldn't: if the frenetic applause was any indication, Strato had just ended their set. Trust his luck!

He closed his eyes again. His luck had really run out. Missing Strato's gig didn't even count. Neither did missing the autograph session today make things that much worse, at least not in the grand scheme of things going wrong lately. The morale of the band was down and he knew it was his fault.

He hadn't been happy when he'd been told that they'd play at the Gods of Metal festival. If he'd been asked before this was agreed on by their management... Then again, he probably had been asked. What with everybody and their uncle calling, texting, emailing him about things he didn't want to discuss, he'd probably deleted the request to agree to play the festival, and the band had made the decision without him.

The setlist had also been put together without asking him. He had a feeling, though, that the selection had been made under the assumption that he wouldn't be in prime shape for the gig: The only song that allowed him to really show his skills was 'Black Sheep', and it had been put right at the beginning. Before he could get drunk, he thought bitterly – although he'd never even once let Sonata down playing-wise because of alcohol. Still, this set list hadn't been a coincidence.

It was somewhat ironic that he was even here in the first place. What with his upcoming 26th birthday, the end of his grace period for his mandatory military service, Jani's passport had become an object of intense scrutiny at Vantaa every time Sonata Arctica departed Finland during the last year. After he'd missed his hearing – he couldn't even remember if he'd 'forgotten' it on purpose or repressed it – there'd been a letter announcing that his passport would be invalidated unless he contacted them to set up another date. He'd ignored the letter. Maybe he shouldn't have been surprised that he'd been arrested a couple of weeks after that deadline had run out. They'd nabbed him at a festival – not one where he was actually playing – and locked him up overnight.

After Anni had picked him up in the morning, she'd nagged until he'd finally called the magistrate to arrange an alternate date for his hearing. Finding him in a holding cell hadn't done their already frayed relationship much good, of course. Maybe it would have been better if they'd just thrown away the key and let him rot there. Weren't people who were arrested for traffic violations sometimes forgotten in their cells and only found a week later, barely alive, and so only for drinking their own urine? Not in Finland, apparently. Okay, he wouldn't have liked the urine drinking part, but if he hadn't agreed to that new hearing date, he wouldn't have been allowed to leave the country, thus he'd be at home now.

At home. Where there was no FOH from hell, no rabid Tony, and also where he could keep an eye on Anni and her newly-developing friendship with Miia. How the hell had these two even met? Miia didn't live in Kemi, so when he'd started the affair with her he'd been sure that Anni would never find out. And then two weeks back when he'd returned from the loo at Ramona, his heart had skipped a few beats at seeing Miia there. And of course, she'd somehow met Anni – probably not 'somehow' but he suspected that Miia had arranged this. She knew that Jani had a girlfriend and must have become curious, especially when things took a turn for the worse with her, too.

Jani sighed. Was there _anything_ in his life that he hadn't – yet! – managed to screw up? Vittu, he needed a cigarette. And here came the next disappointment: when he pulled the almost empty pack from his jeans pocket, he found that the last two remaining cigarettes had disintegrated to the point where they couldn't be saved.

Great. Not, of course. Getting his hands on smokes on the premises wasn't going to be a problem, but finding them without involving people was. Still, the need for nicotine won the battle against his reluctance to leave his temporary safe place.

He got up, cursed his still throbbing head once again, and made for the door, only to find it locked. Frowning, he tried again, but no. Someone must have decided that the gear in the room needed to be protected. Yet another page in the book of Jani's recent luck. He looked around and noticed a second door that was, thankfully, not locked. It led to another room packed with crates and gear.

Maybe his luck hadn't run out completely as there was also a guy in the room, sitting on the floor smoking. He didn't look up when Jani approached him – poor bastard probably needed a break, too, whoever he was. In the dim light and from distance, Jani couldn't have recognised anyone. This guy had long hair, blond or light brown as far as Jani could tell. Average-looking clothes. He hoped it wasn't anyone he actually knew, smalltalk being the lowest item on his agenda.

"Hey there," Jani began hesitatingly as he walked closer to the guy – yes, he was shy, had always been, but really? Getting nervous when asking for a smoke?

"Do you think I could borrow a cigarette from you?"

* * *

There were roadies, techs, sound guys everywhere although none really near him, but no one paid him any attention. Everyone's minds were on their own work. Sav had seen how frenetic things could get at the last seconds till their call time, when electronics shorted out or strings being retuned snapped and tempers flared. That would be for the front of the house. Here, besides dimly lit, the energy was more sedate. It helped, the background shuffle. It had been a long time since he'd felt even vaguely threatened by more than over-excited women wanting to get it on, and who didn't like some of that now and again? Twenty years ago, he and the lads would've jumped into a fight feet first, no question. Had, on occasion. Sav's lips quirked up, remembering. And, he realized, his mouth seemed to be working right again. That was a relief.

He'd smoked the cigarette down to the filter without tracking any elapsed time. Still lying on the floor, he smoked a second one. So far, no one had come waltzing over to chastise him, so it must be okay. Off somewhere unseen, a low-level noise chimed on and on, a watch or phone alarm... annoying, but it finally stopped after five minutes or so.

Really relaxed now, Sav let himself drift into something of a half-sleep. Maybe he'd been some sort of soldier in a past life; it was reckless to fall asleep out in the open but he'd developed the ability to maintain a level of awareness when he wanted to. 'Sleeping with one eye open.' Sav wasn't one to laugh at his own jokes but that was almost funny.

....

Some while later, the need to piss brought him back to full awareness. How could a person even produce any when they sweated out more liquid than they took in? The hard ground was beginning to take its toll on his back, as well. Levering himself up, Sav stretched and found there was another loo far to the back of the space. Here, he felt safe to wash up a bit and fiddle with his hair, which was as limp as he'd expected. In the mirror over the sink, well, he knew. But he saw the lines, less angularity, the unevenness to what used to be near-perfect symmetry that maybe wasn't obvious to people who didn't know him well. His hair was dyed a lighter blond than ever; he supposed he should count himself lucky it hadn't receded like Viv's and Phil's.

He hadn't been thrilled initially with Vivian. In a way, they had all begrudged his presence at first, and he knew it. But they'd had to hire someone, hadn't they? They'd probably have felt the same or worse about any replacement. By now, they all 'got' him. As his musical contribution had increased, so had their mutual trust. Vivian had been booted out of at least three bands that Sav was aware of, but as the years rolled by it became clear on all sides he wasn't leaving other than by choice. His ear was always spot on, and while he sometimes tended to slow down lyrics, he also managed to replicate solos off Pyro with his sweeter sounding Gibson in a way that gave Sav chills on occasion. Luckily, he supposed, there was no ounce of attraction, 'just mates'.

Now he needed something to drink again. His headache had gone, and he needed it to stay gone. Water would be best but beer or stronger would do. Sav made his way out to their designated section and seated himself on the floor again. He'd left his smokes. It was a miracle they hadn't walked off. Either the security was better than it seemed or they were too out of the way.

Midway through, a figure walked up to him out of the dimness, asking to borrow a cigarette. It was the same flame-haired bloke from earlier. Something about the way he held himself... world-weary and wary, like he was expecting someone to kick him...

Sav blinked and exhaled. "Borrow, eh? I won't want it back." The kid looked confused. Well, he wasn't American or Brit so it wasn't nice to rattle him with wording technicalities. "Yeah, go ahead. Pack's a bit mashed." Holding it out, Sav made sure to keep his eyes on the lad's face given where they'd land if he slipped and looked straight ahead. Man, the poor thing was either overcome by some manner of fannishness – which Sav kind of doubted given he was also in a band big enough to be here – or he was extremely introverted. Maybe he was at a loss without his mates around. What instrument did he play, Sav wondered? That was always the first question, even before what's your name.

* * *

The guy looked up and Jani knew he'd seen him before. Maybe not in person, but he was in a band, and it had to be one that Jani knew. Then the guy blinked and exhaled, and when he finally spoke Jani shrunk back immediately, wishing he hadn't used these exact words. Of course it was stupid to ask if he could 'borrow' a smoke! He'd merely wanted to be polite! For a moment, he considered running, but before he could come to a decision, the guy held out a pack of cigarettes to him.

Unfortunately, he kept his eyes fixed on Jani's, making him even more uncomfortable than he'd already been. Jani wanted to look away but couldn't; it would have been inappropriate. Vittu, how he hated this, being with people. The irony was that he was facing another musician and would probably even enjoy talking gear with him. If he could only place him...

Blond hair, maybe permed, light-coloured eyes in a tired-looking slightly asymmetric face. The guy was _old,_ his style screamed eighties. Native speaker. It finally clicked in Jani's brain. Def Leppard. This was the bass player, now what was his name...

The bassist was still looking at him and Jani flinched, realising that he was taking too long to react. He reached for the pack with shaking hands and extracted a cigarette. Forcing a smile, he returned the pack, then took out his lighter. It gave him something to do with his hands and also a reason to finally avert his eyes from the Brit.

Def Leppard, he repeated to himself while inhaling greedily. What the hell were they doing at a metal festival? He'd wondered that already before, when he'd first seen the line-up. As far as he knew, they'd been around since before Jani was even born, playing OK-ish hard rock. But he was more into metal and what they were up to nowadays he had no idea. The past year had been so busy with touring that he'd barely had time – or motivation – to listen to a lot of music by others, especially established bands that were not part of the metal community.

"Thanks," he managed after the first two, three inhales, flashing his eyes at the guy again quickly. _Rick,_ that was his name. _Rick Savage._ "Thanks, Rick."

Vittu, Rick still had his eyes on Jani's face. Was he supposed to make conversation now? Jani was at a loss what to do. He couldn't simply run off as long as the guy was looking at him. It was getting awkward. 

* * *

The youngster – no really, he had to be in his 20's – flinched but finally took the pack of smokes and lit up, sucking in a lungful in the same manner Sav had earlier following the encounter with those wankers at the photo op. Already, he could laugh over that, wondering why he'd misspent any energy on it.

After an uncomfortable wait time, the red-haired bloke handed back the near-empty by now pack and thanked him by name: Rick. Sav would have raised his eyebrows if he could. Yes, that was his name, of course; he was surprised to be recognised by somebody that age who played in a metal band. The bloke had a certain lost boy quality to him, spoke in a soft voice... the second he realised what he was doing, Sav immediately shut down whatever part of his brain was trying to superimpose... but still, he reflexively checked the kid's arms for track marks. Maybe... but if they were it was only a couple and they were old. Casual user, then.

It was then he actually read the slogan in big letters across the kid's chest, 'I ♥ VAGINA'. Sav grinned. "Nice shirt."

His knees weren't going to thank him for using one of his rock moves, but he decided to stand up and end whatever weirdness was going on here – the young bloke had not relaxed at all; he looked ready to bolt – so it might as well not be like someone's arthritic granddad. Sav noticed immediately they were of similar height. Also, vodka. Bloody hell, vodka. The familiar smell of it oozing out of the other guy's pores rolled over him. He tried to cover any reaction by going on, "You know who I am, then... You are...?"

* * *

When Rick commented on his shirt, Jani bit his lip and averted his gaze, again, hoping that the bassist wouldn't notice his deep blush. It still made him uncomfortable. He should really have changed out of his stage clothes!

When he looked up again, Rick had got to his feet. Although he wasn't that much taller than him, Jani felt even smaller under the intensity of the man's light – blue? he couldn't tell for sure in the dimness of the room – eyes. It appeared that the question as to who he was hadn't been asked merely out of politeness, but also out of curiosity. Or, most likely, it was simply normal human behaviour – of course, Jani should have introduced himself. He felt stupid.

"Sorry," he muttered. "I'm with Sonata Arctica. We played the second slot today." If he were lucky for once, Rick would haven't paid their set any attention. The memory of the disastrous sound still made him wince.

"I'm Jani." Should he offer his hand? "From Finland," he added and instantly regretted it. For him, being Finnish was the obvious reason, explanation, excuse, whatever, for his clumsy attempt at communicating. To most non-Finns, however, this wouldn't mean anything. If anyone knew about Finland in the first place, it was usually about Finns being successful in Formula-I or skiing-related stuff. Those with a little more background would associate the country with sauna and Nokia. Metalheads knew Finland, of course, as the nation had the highest density of metal bands in the entire world, but Rick came from the hard-rock side.

He drew on his cigarette again, noticing that it was almost gone already. Rick was still looking at him and although Jani could normally spend hours in silent company with just about anyone and not find it awkward, he now felt the urge to say something more, but what?

Well, there was one topic that he could safely bring up. In fact, it was a professional courtesy, almost a requirement to enlighten a fellow musician on the shortcomings of the front of house.

"I hope you brought your own sound guy," he offered. "The equipment here is okay, but the FOH... Trust me," he said darkly, "you don't want to go there."

For the first time he'd entered the small room, he felt a little less uncomfortable now that he'd found a familiar topic.

* * *

"We did," Sav nodded at the question posed to him, glancing around at their stacks of equipment. Now he had a name and point of reference for the bloke's band, at least. He could look it up later. Finland... he'd heard that the metal scene in the extreme north was taking off. People playing and partying hardcore above the Arctic Circle. He'd even considered checking it out, there'd just never been time. If the average age of that lot was something like 23, he might come across as pathetic anyway.

"We each have our own tech as well. Learned the hard way not to trust the venue for sound." He recalled seeing the name Sonata Arctica as the second band of the day, and came to the conclusion that they were the poor fuckers from the morning. He had only heard a few minutes' worth, tuning it out afterwards, so maybe it had improved although the dark look on – Jani's – face indicated otherwise. Immediately Sav changed his mind about asking how their set had gone.

"I'm surprised none of them are back here yet." Sav had another look 'round to confirm. Wolfie, Viv's tech, lived up to his name when it came to 'doggedness' and being territorial. No, none of them were there. Probably enjoying a few rare moments of sightseeing, taking in the festival, or sleeping. He wasn't sure why, like if it was something he'd said, that made Jani so visibly uncomfortable – at which point his subconscious made sure to yell at him for having been gawking – but since the kid had made an effort at a conversation Sav could hold up his end. Usually it was him, thinking up small talk to put people at ease. This was a strange sort of reversal. 

"You wanna check out..." Either the lad would go for it or else run away screaming; it was a bit of a gamble. Sav gestured in the direction of his own rig, cabs, cases. "Play bass or...?" Although he used his own instrument as a jumping off point, Sav was convinced already this boy was no bassist or lead singer, he could often tell just by how musicians held themselves but between guitars and drums, he wasn't entirely positive. He noticed a bottle of water he'd overlooked before half hidden in a cubbyhole created by some of Viv's amps. The sudden need to clear the nicotine aftertaste out of his mouth as well as get more fluid into his system took over. Breaking the seal, Sav chugged down half of it in one go.

* * *

"Good for you." Jani nodded his head in approval. He hadn't expected any less from a famous band like Def Leppard; of course they'd bring their own crew. He vaguely remembered that they'd be touring soon, so it made sense for them to go all the way, not like Sonata, for whom this gig was a single event. They'd finished their European tour three weeks ago and their next gig wouldn't be until Tuska at the end of the month.

He was about to explain this as the reason why they had only Osmo with them, but when Rick looked around and mused where their own techs, whom he apparently expected back any minute, were, Jani changed his mind. Rick had been really friendly, and not just for appearance's sake, but unlike Jani, whose work was done, the bassist still had his gig before him. He'd want to concentrate on getting ready; Jani fully understood and didn't blame him.

Just when he opened his mouth to thank the other man for the cigarette and the little talk, however, Rick surprised him by offering him to check out their gear. At the following question if he, Jani, played bass, he stood a little straighter. "Guitar," he said with a lot more confidence than before, but he immediately shrunk back again. His skill on his instrument was the only thing he'd admit to being proud off, but had he sounded arrogant? Hopefully not! In Finland, the bassist was cliché-wise considered the dumbest band member and thus at the bottom of the food chain. Jani knew that in other countries people tended to regard the drummer as the dumb one, but he was suddenly uneasy and concerned that he might have involuntarily insulted Rick.

He couldn't even tell if he had because the other man turned away from him to pick up a water bottle and drink from it. It probably had nothing to do with what Jani had said, but what if it had? His own mouth was suddenly drier than the Sahara. Why hadn't he drunk more water earlier?

Watching Rick's Adam's apple move up and down as he swallowed, Jani noticed belatedly that he was staring and, worse, that his staring could be misinterpreted as a type of interest he definitely didn't feel. Hadn't there been rumours about Def Leppard members possibly not being entirely straight? They were probably just that, rumours; Jani was aware that some fangirls had sexual fantasies about himself and Tony – totally ludicrous, of course! – but maybe it was good that he was still wearing his stage shirt, after all.

Insecure as hell again, Jani didn't know what to do or say. He decided to put the ball in the other's court. "Sure, I'd be interested in a rig rundown but only if that's really okay with you." A Finn would have never made such an offer if he didn't mean it, but Jani was never too sure with others. "I mean, I can totally understand if you'd rather have some privacy before your show."

* * *

So, guitar. It fit. Besides the sound non-quality, Sav recalled the actual guitar work he'd heard, and how it had nearly frozen him in his tracks for a moment. This was the musician responsible? Unless Jani was rhythm, and that was something one just didn't ask. "Cool," Sav responded. Jani – definitely not a name in popular circulation anywhere he'd been – had seemed proud of the fact for two seconds, then he slouched and turned in on himself again. Their show must have bombed horribly or something.

The offer to give him privacy to get ready seemed too intimate, somehow. Like he was about to do something sexual. Was this guy coming on to him? No, that wasn't possible. Not with his love of vagina emblazoned on his chest. Sav doubted Jani would have the balls to flirt with him, even if he swung that way. He couldn't help smirking a little. And then, what would he do? That was a problem he didn't need. He looked down to cover it, letting his hair swing forward to mostly cover his face. "Nah, it's fine. We don't go on till eight." Sav checked his watch; it was shortly after four. Tipping his chin up as a gesture to follow, he shook his hair back again and turned to lead the way to his gear.

"I know it's not what you're running at all with a guitar. But here..." Sav warmed to his topic and pointed to each component in his rack. "I'm a bit old school... wireless comes in here... then the switcher, two pre-amps, the effects are next on the loop – these amps which each run a pair of 4X10 cabs on either side of the stage... this SansAmp driver works great for me... and then distortion of course." He pulled the bass pedal box out. These days, it was starting to resemble the foot pedals of a church organ. "Couple of songs have me hopping on these quite a bit. Some of it's old, you can't buy it anymore... what else? I don't use in-ears, don't like 'em. So I have to rely on monitors out front. If the FOH is as shite as you say, I'd better have a talk with my tech soon."

Shite. It sounded like he was giving an interview or something. He still did a lot of them. His bandmates were familiar with his set-up, and the techs and roadies actually handled most of it on a day-to-day basis when they were touring. As a band, they'd been rehearsing for weeks, and before that in the studio. "Sorry for rambling on. Been a while since I had a chance to show this to a 'real' musician, y'know?"

* * *

Rick's set-up immediately gained Jani's full approval. It contained everything necessary and useful, and that was it, down to essentials. OK, so the gadget-happy players were more often the guitarists than the bassists, but he'd seen some over-the-top – in his opinion – rigs with endless chains of effects in bass players, too. 

He smiled. "Actually, I'm not running with that much either. Basically, I'm down to three settings, rhythm, lead, clean. I prefer to rely on my playing rather than having my equipment fix it for me." Again, he ducked his head a little. "I'm not Yngwie or Petrucci or even anywhere near that league, but I know what I can play and what not." 

Now why did he feel the need to justify his rig when Rick appeared to follow the same philosophy? Jani liked to keep his gear as plain as possible, period. He had a top and cabs, but the only effects he used regularly, at least live, were distortion and chorus. And a noise gate, of course, but that kind of obvious equipment didn't merit further mention.

"In-ear monitors, they're great if they work," he changed the topic. "Which wasn't the case today, but I could barely get anything useful from the stage monitors either. At times, all I could make out at all were the drums. Enough to go by for playing and I think we did okay there, but I'm not sure I even want to know what it must have been like for the audience." He cringed. Regardless how good the band was, it came down to nothing if they couldn't be heard properly. 

"I'm sure your guy will take care of that, though." He managed a smile. Def Leppard were on just before the headliners. Jani was confident that their sound guy could more easily pull rank on the FOH – more 'front of hell' than 'front of house', this one – than Sonata Arctica, who hadn't even brought their own tech. Still, any of them, even Tommy's two-year-old, could have done a better job had she been here.

He raised his eyebrows when Rick suggested that he, Jani, was a real musician. Of course, he was that, somehow, at least it was the only description he thought fitting to what he did for a living, but that Rick considered him as such although he'd never before heard of Sonata Arctica until a few minutes ago and much less of Jani, of course, and – lucky for him it appeared that Rick had missed their earlier gig – the praise Rick's suggestion implied made him feel embarrassed. 

"I wish I could reciprocate by showing you mine," he said, "but I'm afraid ours is already all packed and loaded. We'll be flying back to Finland tomorrow morning." 

For some reason, Tony wanted to return early and they'd miss the final day of the festival. Until now, Jani had been very much in favour of this, but suddenly he thought that staying for another day may have given him a chance to talk to Rick some more. The thought surprised him as he usually was very reluctant to converse with people outside his inner circle of close friends back at home and his bandmates, of course. But although he felt skittish in the older man's presence, he wasn't, how to put it, as uncomfortable with Rick as he was in most situations where he'd just met someone.

It wasn't going to happen, though. Unlike his original plan for the evening, namely returning to the hotel and then getting hammered, Jani would now watch Def Leppard perform, of course, but after their set, the bassist would want to rest rather than hang out with a sociophobic guitarist he'd barely even met and who was lightyears away from his league. Jani would be gone by morning and he doubted that Rick would remember him, even should their paths cross again in the future.

* * *

Phil could go on for three days about all his effects and what-not, and Vivian's was so much electronic mumbo-jumbo his tech probably had to have a Ph.D. to keep on top of it. It was refreshing to see someone admit to a simplified set-up, and Sav nodded along as Jani spoke with enthusiasm about it. His level of animation muted as he compared himself unfavourably to two legends... who had years and years on him. Then he was on to equipment again and his mood lightened. Jani used in-ears, but what he said about them only confirmed Sav's opinion that they were more trouble than they were worth. The offer to 'show you mine' wasn't meant to be funny, probably something of a courtesy since Sav had just 'shown Jani his'. Too bad. He'd have liked to have continued the interaction about the minutiae of their profession. At the end, Jani reiterated the FOH-from-hell.

"Thanks again for the warning, we'll get on it. ...We're flying out tomorrow as well," Sav mentioned. He saw some of their roadies and Rick's tech approaching, appearing out of the dim, vast room. Looked like time was up. "Just starting a tour. I'd say let's do this again some other time but," he shrugged, and laid his left arm along the top of the speaker behind him, "you know how it goes. Nice to have met you... Jani." His pronunciation was probably crap but Sav smiled and stuck out his hand. Just a wave would be dismissive but even a one-armed hug would probably make this tense guitarist ping through the roof. Plus, even with the flowing hair, finely-formed eyebrows and wide mouth, he was no girl. Handshake it was.

* * *

It was strange: when he'd first set eyes on Rick, it had been only the need for a smoke that had made him speak to the guy. And then... Jani couldn't remember when he'd let himself relax so much so quickly in the presence of someone he'd never met before, so it must have been quite a while ago – if it had ever happened at all, that was. And now that he was just beginning to feel comfortable, Rick's crew turned up. This was it, then.

The way Rick said he wouldn't have minded continuing or resuming their talk told Jani that he meant it, which made him regret even more that it wouldn't happen; neither he nor Rick had any illusions about this. When he saw the smile that came with Rick's words, though, Jani suddenly didn't think any longer that Rick would immediately forget him. For some reason, this made it a little less hard to break off their conversation.

Rick's hand was warm and firm and Jani returned the shake equally firmly, wanting to hold on to it for a moment longer, but aware that all that could lead to was a misunderstanding, so he let go of the hand reluctantly.

"You know what," he said, "if you ever come to Lapland..." OK, that wasn't going to happen. "...or Helsinki. Do get in touch."

He hesitated and looked down again, biting his lip before making up his mind. "It was nice to meet you, too. This wasn't the greatest day for me and you made a difference. So, um, thanks for everything."

Right, now he'd really managed to make himself look like an utter idiot or brainless fanboy. Not waiting for a reply, Jani picked up his backpack from the floor and fled.

* * *

Jani shook his hand – firmly – saying he should get in touch if ever on that part of the globe, followed by a somewhat surprising parting statement that their short interaction had made the younger man's day easier. Sav managed another smile, burning from the slight brush of guitar callouses, but said nothing, because the sincerity along with how much it must have cost the kid to say such a thing sort of overwhelmed him, too. It was totally different than when women threw themselves – sometimes literally – at him pledging eternal love and blowjobs or whatever. It was a little thing, but... real.

Jani must have felt similarly or maybe that he'd overstepped. He backed away, grabbed his backpack and hurried off in a different direction than he'd approached.

And now it was time to get his act together for tonight. He wouldn't change clothes till right before sound check but there was plenty to do. Sav opened up the case that held his basses, hesitated, and reached for Wednesday.

* * *


End file.
